His love for the country, especially for its peacefulness, was free from the folly and excess of the pastoral poetry of his day.  He did not paint Nature entirely for her own sake; man was always her master[16] in his poems, and he sometimes, very finely, introduced himself and his affairs at the close, and represented Nature as addressing himself.

His descriptions are short, and he often tries to represent sounds onomato-poetically.

This is from his ode, Quiet Life[17]: 

  O happy he who flies
  Far from the noisy world away—­
  Who with the worthy and the wise
  Hath chosen the narrow way. 
  The silence of the secret road
  That leads the soul to virtue and to God!... 
  O streams, and shades, and hills on high,
  Unto the stillness of your breast
  My wounded spirit longs to fly—­
  To fly and be at rest. 
  Thus from the world’s tempestuous sea,
  O gentle Nature, do I turn to thee.... 
  A garden by the mountain side
  Is mine, whose flowery blossoming
  Shews, even in spring’s luxuriant pride,
  What Autumn’s suns shall bring: 
  And from mountain’s lofty crown
  A clear and sparkling rill comes tumbling down;
  Then, pausing in its downward force
  The venerable trees among,
  It gurgles on its winding course;
  And, as it glides along,
  Gives freshness to the day and pranks
  With ever changing flowers its mossy banks. 
  The whisper of the balmy breeze
  Scatters a thousand sweets around,
  And sweeps in music through the trees
  With an enchanting sound
  That laps the soul in calm delight
  Where crowns and kingdoms are forgotten quite.

The poem, The Starry Sky,[18] is full of lofty enthusiasm for
Nature and piety: 

  When yonder glorious sky
  Lighted with million lamps I contemplate,
  And turn my dazzled eye
  To this vain mortal state
  All mean and visionary, mean and desolate,
  A mingled joy and grief
  Fills all my soul with dark solicitude.... 
  List to the concert pure
  Of yon harmonious countless worlds of light. 
  See, in his orbit sure
  Each takes his journey bright,
  Led by an unseen hand through the vast maze of night. 
  See how the pale moon rolls
  Her silver wheel.... 
  See Saturn, father of the golden hours,
  While round him, bright and blest,
  The whole empyrean showers
  Its glorious streams of light on this low world of ours. 
  But who to these can turn
  And weigh them ’gainst a weeping world like this,
  Nor feel his spirit burn
  To grasp so sweet a bliss
  And mourn that exile hard which here his portion is? 
  For there, and there alone,
  Are peace and joy and never dying love: 
  Day that shall never cease,
  No night there threatening,
  No winter there to chill joy’s ever-during spring. 
  Ye fields of changeless green
  Covered with living streams and fadeless flowers;
  Thou paradise serene,
  Eternal joyful hours
  Thy disembodied soul shall welcome in thy towers!